


a bloody nose to the best friend he knows

by benditlikepress



Category: NCIS
Genre: !! pain, Canon Compliant, Episode: s04e01 Shalom, F/M, and how young she was and how she'd probably never had serious feelings like that before, but i have many thoughts about s4 jealous ziva, secret summer of sex, this era was so hard to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benditlikepress/pseuds/benditlikepress
Summary: After being given his La Grenouille assignment, Tony is forced to tell Ziva that their casual summer relationship has to come to an end.
Relationships: Ziva David/Anthony DiNozzo
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	a bloody nose to the best friend he knows

**Author's Note:**

> prompt given to me on tumblr in which Tony has to tell Ziva that they have to stop hooking up once he gets his assignment to date Jeanne Benoit  
> title from Kamakura by The Maccabees

“Plans tonight?”

“Not yet. Didn’t think we’d be free. But the night’s still young. Ziva?”

Ziva looked up at the sound of her name out of Tony’s mouth. It was nonchalant, a glance in her direction, but Ziva wondered if it made his mind flicker in the way it did hers. It didn’t sound like an invitation.

“Catching up on sleep, I expect.”

They hadn’t hung out since Gibbs had gotten back and Tony had technically been demoted, but Ziva didn’t necessarily put any weight into it. Things had been strange. Not just because of Gibbs, but also because of Mossad, and her father, and Officer Bashan, and everyone trying to adjust to the new normal. She was sure Tony would be the first to admit that.

The more the days and weeks had passed, though, the more she’d realised how much she’d started to rely on him over the summer. What had started out under the guise of her wanting to support him in his new role had crumbled very quickly.

It hadn’t just been about sex, though maybe if someone had asked Ziva while it was still going on she would’ve claimed it was. She found herself genuinely enjoying his company, cooking him food and rolling her eyes at his movie rants and feeling his hand snake up her thigh while she pretended to be engrossed by the screen. They had always been friends, she would feel confident in saying, but she’d never considered them truly _close_ before.

Perhaps that was why, at the first sign of a tough case since Gibbs’ return, her first instinct was to turn to him and ask if he wanted to hang out that night. It had bugged her more than she cared to admit: dead children always did, and she suspected it wasn’t just her that had been feeling it. Tony had been quiet all week, startlingly so, brooding and thoughtful and as though he was always not quite on the same wavelength as everyone else. Particularly her, she found herself thinking.

"Think I'll join you. Not-" McGee corrected himself before Tony could interject. " _Join_ you."

"Mind out of the gutter, McGoo. I don't think it was an invitation."

"Perhaps it was. It is not like I have a better offer.”

“Gee, that’s flattering. Thanks.”

Ziva wasn’t really listening to McGee’s objections, too busy engaging Tony in a silent conversation. Her transparent bait had worked and though he was still quiet he quirked an eyebrow and smirked before looking back down at his work.

Whether his mood was actually connected to the case remained to be seen. It wasn't something drastically new, more something that had been creeping up on them for a couple of weeks and was only now becoming A Thing.

But then, Ziva wondered if it was at all. Nothing had actually changed. They were still bickering as normal, still working together fine, still taking it in turns to tease McGee. Except.

Except.

She watched him now, head bent over his computer as he typed up his report. They’d finally apprehended their suspect and got a confession earlier in the afternoon and Ziva had frankly been watching the clock for the past hour waiting for Gibbs to tell them they could go home.

It was only when Tony’s eyes started to wonder that her interest was piqued. He was staring at her again.

He had been doing it on-and-off in a way that was setting her teeth on edge. Not that it was malicious, or angry - not at all. Quite the opposite: his face was entirely unreadable.

Perhaps that was what was bothering her.

She'd never once met a Tony facial expression she couldn't interpret, never seen one of his gestures and not been able to see through it. He'd never been inaccessible like he was now, eyes boring into her skull as she tried to finish typing her report without her eyes being dragged back to him.

Every sentence was a pain, her frustrations at her own inability to concentrate on work boiling over even as he abandoned his own tasks altogether.

Ziva cricked her neck, and as she did so she caught Gibbs’ eye. She still wasn’t used to the moustache. He looked at her for a long moment and gave her a small nod as she turned back to the computer.

“Alright, pack up. Sleep it off.”

Tony sprung out of his chair without hesitation, dragging his eyes away from Ziva and down to his desk, but before she could say something Gibbs approached her.

“David, need you to take this down to lock-up for me.” Ziva nodded in acknowledgement of the box but didn’t move, watching Tony avoid her eyeline as he shrugged on his jacket. “Today?”

Ziva looked back at Gibbs and the blank expression on his face.

“Sorry. Of course.”

She picked up the box and moved quickly to the elevator, hoping she would catch Tony before he left.

His desk was empty when she got back.

* * *

Ziva headed home, as she knew she should, but found herself wandering aimlessly around the apartment, picking up and replacing items trying to convince herself she had her mind on something else.

‘This is pathetic’, she thought to herself even as she pulled her boots back on and grabbed a bottle of wine of the fridge and her keys, pulling her jacket tighter around her as an unexpected chill went through the air on the street.

Tony didn’t live too far and so she decided to walk, three times stopping and almost turning back home. When she did eventually get to his apartment he let her up via the buzzer without even checking her identity – a lapse in judgement she knew he was not usually accustomed to.

She took the steps two at a time and left a moment to consider her options before knocking the door. What was she actually doing here? What was she hoping to achieve?

Before she could think of an answer the door opened, and Tony blinked as he took her in.

“Ziva – hey.” There was a genuine shock on his face that she hadn’t been expecting, and for a brief moment she thought she’d found official confirmation she’d made a mistake by coming round.

“Sorry. If you are busy I can go.”

“No, I.. no. Just surprised, that’s all.”

“You left while I was gone. You looked like you could do with a drink.” She lifted the bottle of wine a little, redundantly, and his face finally cracked into a small smile.

“Not gonna say no to that. Come in.”

He took the bottle off her as she crossed the threshold, pulling off her shoes. He disappeared into the kitchen a little beyond the room where she now stood.

“You should never let somebody into your apartment building without checking their identity, you know.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“I am serious, Tony.”

“I know. I’m just expecting someone. Buddy of mine is dropping a couple of boxes off for me.”

The statement made Ziva properly take in her surroundings for the first time as she followed him into the kitchen - the apartment was looking more bare than the last time she’d been here. She couldn't quite place her finger on what they were, but she could see that things were missing. There was a box, taped shut, next to the television.

"Are you moving?"

"Huh? No. Just a little.. fall cleaning."

"Ah. I am not familiar."

"Oh, it doesn't mean anything. Just mean I'm having a clear-out."

"Let me know if I can help. I would love to get a look at your film collection, I am sure there are some you have multiple copies of."

" _You_ are getting nowhere near."

He opened his fridge and poked around, making noises of indecision.

"Pasta. Let's have pasta."

"Sure." Ziva could hear the frown in her own voice at Tony's demeanour as he began to boil water and started pulling out sauce ingredients.

“So, you glad to be free?”

“Absolutely. I’m not sure I have had a proper night’s sleep in a week.”

“Think Gibbs’ll give us the day off?”

“I would not get your hopes up.”

“Hm, probably right. Not as generous as the old boss.” The joke surprised Ziva – given how she’d seen him struggle with the swift reversion to type. He turned around when she didn’t reply and acknowledged the smile on her face by picking up the bottle of wine and opening it. He handed her a glass and tipped his towards it. “To a job well done.”

They both took a long drink. Ziva looked around the kitchen as Tony turned back to the food, inexplicably finding herself searching for a way to enter conversation that always came so naturally.

She knew this was why people believed you should talk about things before it got too late: they fester, and cloud your head, and then when something changes you’re left scrambling for some understanding. She also knew, deep down, that what she was feeling right now was as much proof as she’d ever need that what was going on between them over the summer had never been as casual as she’d intended it to be. The fact she’d even came to see him tonight, in fact, was evidence enough.

"Strange case, yes?"

"Strange?"

"Not strange. Difficult. But I think it put everybody in a strange mood."

"Ones with kids always are."

Ziva hummed, the echo of her identical summation earlier in the day as the cause of the strange air surrounding them.

"You?"

It took Ziva a second to realise he was asking how she was feeling.

"Knowing he is going to pay for his crimes is enough for me."

She saw him, too, assess the validity of her words. "You can say that again. He'll be a hit in prison."

The door buzzer cut through the conversation. “Ah. That’s Josh.”

Tony left the kitchen and Ziva heard his muffled voice say something on the intercom.

She poked around the kitchen as eared his throat and waited for Josh to get up the stairs, running a finger over a note on the fridge that read ‘milk, beer, something else???’ and made her smile as the apartment door opened.

“Hey. Thanks man.” Ziva couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation. “No, I’m good. Ziva’s here. Yeah. Alright, see ya.”

The conversation was quick and Tony came straight back towards her. Ziva watched as he stacked the pile of flattened boxes against the wall that split the living area and kitchen. One fell immediately, and he kicked it over to the corner rather than picking it up.

“More fall cleaning?”

“Yeah. Just moving some stuff around.”

“A lot of stuff. I am not sure I even have enough possessions to fit into all of those boxes.”

“We aren’t all feng shui like you, your apartment’s like a showroom.”

“I never had a chance to collect things when I worked at Mossad – I was never at home. This is all still a little foreign to me.”

“You’re welcome to some of my trash, if you want it.”

“I will remember that _kind_ offer.” He was back by the cooker now, back to her, and Ziva sat down on one of the bar stools. “So how are you finding it with Gibbs being back now? Have things settled down?"

Tony tipped his head as he poured pasta into the boiling water. "I mean, I guess. It was a little weird at first but we've worked like this for years."

"It is OK to be disappointed, Tony. It is an unfortunate situation to be in. For what it's worth, I think you were a good leader."

He turned to face her, then, looking at her with a strange curiosity. “Thank you?”

They'd spoken about this before, though maybe she'd never said it so bluntly and that was why he seemed surprised. It was the reason they'd first grown close: he floundered a little as the realities of his new role had set in, and Ziva had taken it upon herself to try to help him settle into it.

He'd been honest, at first, about his struggles with the bureaucracy of the job and the difficulties of trying to manage a team. He'd needed that sounding board less as time had gone on, which is when their evenings had become more about other things than Ziva's initial intention.

She felt like he needed it now, though, but seemingly there was something hanging over him that didn't allow for that kind of honesty.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just a little surprised, that’s all.”

“Does there have to be an ulterior motive?”

“Of course not.”

“I know things were difficult at times, but I do mean that. Sincerely. We all thought so. McGee was calling you Boss.”

“Yeah, well.” He didn’t seem to have much to say after that. “I shouldn’t let him forget that too easily, should I?”

“He would not expect you too.”

There was a period of silence while they exchanged a smile. Tony’s died first, though he squinted his eyes a little as he watched her. “Thank you, Ziva. I do appreciate it. Especially because I saved you from locked up in federal prison.”

“I am certain I already told you thank you for that, but all the same. Thank you. I think the next time something comes up you are sure to be on the Director’s list.”

Tony’s eyes averted away from her, flickered behind him to the pan on the stove, and he made a noise as he began to stir the sauce rigorously. "Ah, this has gotten way too thick."

Ziva walked over to the cooker and anyone else may have noticed the way his breath hitched, just a tiny bit, when she leaned over him. "It is fine, Tony. Just add a drop of water."

"Y'think?"

"I already know you can cook, there is no use trying to hide it."

"Well, I don't like to boast."

"You do, actually. Often."

"OK, you got me there." He waggled a wooden spoon in her direction with one of those smiles that she'd never admit sent a bolt of electricity through her. "I just.. Hmm.." He stopped to taste the sauce, "I dunno. Like to keep some things close to my chest."

"Well, I _do_ understand that."

"You sure do."

He was lighter now, the tone in his voice lifted, easy, though Ziva could see the clouds still hanging around his eyes.

“See? I was right.” Ziva moved his attention back to the sauce, which was now bubbling away as normal.

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Would not dream of it.”

She was relieved that this, at least, felt normal.

* * *

They ate dinner with casual conversation and quiet laughter, the television buzzing in the other room an open invitation.

Ziva made her way in there automatically as Tony cleared the plates, running her fingers along a section of Tony’s vast collection of DVDs.

“Do you remember which Bond film we got to?”

"You're actually willingly going to watch one? Sure you're feeling alright?"

"If you are waiting for me to say I enjoy them, you’ll be waiting forever."

"I know - never gonna give me the satisfaction. I'm onto you, though."

"While you mull that theory over, can I have an answer?"

"The Spy Who Loved Me."

Ziva scanned the collection and found the movie, clicking it out of its case and handing it to Tony to set up on the TV.

She sat down on the left side of the two-seater, settling her legs down to the side but leaving a sliver of space at the edge of her cushion to allow a barrier between them.

By the time Tony sat down alongside her, though, the gap was non-existent. No longer concerned with niceties he plonked himself down in the middle of his seat, his thigh against her legs, and handed her one of the glasses from his hands as he juggled the TV remote.

"This is a Roger Moore, yes?"

"1977. Barbara Bach. Gorgeous."

"Aren't they all?" Tony hummed in agreement. "To which agency is she attached?"

"KGB. Know any of them?"

"I have crossed paths with some - they are the Foreign Intelligence Service now. Though none as beautiful as this."

"Movie magic. Pretty sure she's from Queens."

The movie started and they settled in - Ziva dividing her attention between watching the screen and watching Tony, who was doing a mediocre job of feigning interest in Roger Moore's exploits. She shuffled in her seat to get more comfortable, her leg inevitably brushing more against Tony's.

Tony's hand reached out to touch her, as it often did when they sat like this, but something stopped him and his hand paused inexplicably in thin air.

Ziva looked up at his face but he wasn't looking at hers - he was looking at his hand, her leg, as though they were foreign to him.

She knew she should ask him what was wrong. Someone else would, she was sure. Instead she watched his hand, unblinking, waiting in challenge until he finally placed it in the middle of her thigh.

"Something wrong?" she eventually asked, hating the way her voice sounded. Too practised. Clear she'd been thinking it all day.

"Hm? No, I'm good."

He turned to give her a reassuring smile but their gazes stuck, as they so often did, and he couldn't quite look way again. His fingers on her thigh rubbed slowly, and he shuffled a little closer to her.

It was her that closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his, though it was only a moment before his hand was in her hair. Heat mixed with relief in her reaction as his tongue pushed her lips open, entering her mouth with a muffled noise as she felt along day-old stubble scattering his jaw.

As Ziva’s hands made their way to the back of his neck he pulled their lips apart, resting his forehead against hers but not opening his eyes.

“This is a bad idea.”

It was practically a mantra at this point: something they said while decidedly not stopping what they were doing, laughing against each other’s skin. She kissed him again, more hungrily, and he responded in earnest by wrapping arms around her back and pulling her closer towards him.

Ziva shifted so she was kneeling upwards to get a better purchase, her hands running down his chest as he fought for control. When her own hands moved to his back and she tried to lean backwards to bring him down on top of her she felt a second of hesitation, a stutter against her lips.

“Stop.”

The words were whispered but they made Ziva freeze on the spot. She opened her eyes but his were still closed and there was a furrow in his brow. She removed her hands from him slowly, sitting back on her heels.

It was only when she stopped touching him that he finally opened his eyes.

“Ziva, I…” He began but the words died quickly, and he shuffled to bring himself back to a seated position. “I’ve been thinking, about this.” He paused as though he expected her to interrupt, but when she didn’t he sighed. His voice was quiet. “I’m not sure we should be doing it anymore.”

The silence that followed was muffled by Ziva moving her legs to sit down properly, busying herself as she assessed the words. She’d seen it coming, of course: even considered this might have been a silent conversation they’d already avoided having, the weeks having gone by without seeing each other outside of work.

But whatever it had been that had changed between them recently was, apparently, very much not a strange unfamiliar paranoia that had built up in her head.

“Has Gibbs said something to you?”

“No.” His answer came quickly. “No, he hasn’t. But I’ve just.. been thinking, since he got back. Maybe we got carried away this summer.”

His tone was strangely sombre, almost pained, and even with different words it would’ve made Ziva’s cheeks burn. She allowed it to sit between them for a few moments while Tony stared at his hands.

“I understand.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

She tried to make her tone sound nonchalant but perhaps she went too far because the expression on Tony’s face changed.

“Ziva, I really care about you. I don’t want to ruin this.”

“What is there to ruin? We are friends. I mean, this was just… a bit of fun, yes? It was never going to carry on forever. Especially now Gibbs is back. You are right – it would not be appropriate.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

"It was just sex, Tony. It is not a big deal."

She wasn't sure why it sounded as harsh in the air as it did, but as soon as the words left her mouth the silence was sharp.

They felt like words she should repeat to herself until they start to sound true again. Mantras, once so much a part of her, that had been forgotten. It's just sex, Ziva. You know it doesn't mean anything. You're partners, you’ll have each other's back regardless. Emotional attachments to your colleagues will only ever end one way.

The voice that said that sentence in her head, though, wasn't hers at all.

Tony's face turned into that unreadable one that had been driving her crazy at the office. He exhaled and looked down at his lap.

“Is there something going on, Tony?”

“Like what?”

“Anything. I realise not everybody wants to share every detail of their life, but we are partners, and I like to think that you would feel you could trust me with things.”

“There’s nothing. Just trying to adjust to Gibbs being back.”

She knew he was lying: had to be a reason he'd spent the past week alternating between staring into space and staring directly at her. Had to be a reason why this felt more like a battle within himself rather than a battle of trying to find a way to let a friend down gently.

She knew she would never bring herself to ask him if he'd stopped liking her, even the thought making her cringe, but then his attention got caught on her lip between her teeth and she got her answer anyway.

He turned his head, forcing his eyes away from, and took a sip of his drink.

“If there was something, though. You would tell me?”

“Of course I would.”

“OK, so long as you know you can. I am not saying this because of-” She paused, realising she didn’t have a word for what had never quite been said out loud. “Things have been a little off with you recently and I wondered if there was something in particular that was affecting you. If I had done something to offend you, or…”

“No, no. It’s not you. It’s not.. anyone, or anything. Just been thinking a lot lately. You know that’s always dangerous.”

He forced a smile.

It pained her the way he was tiptoeing around her. The recognition that, even for a split second, she'd shown something on her face that made him realise she was bothered by it. She couldn't decide if she hated more that he could see it on her, or more that it bothered her at all.

She remembered a time, once, when this hadn’t been happening long, and she’d been sprawled on top of him on her sofa and he’d said to her “you’re gonna kill me one day”. She’d delighted in it at the time, accentuating his point with a sharp bite to his neck, and then lain awake all night while he snored next to her wondering why it made her stomach churn.

She hadn’t been ready then to admit that what he passed off as a joke was something that she feared for herself: that maybe, one day, he would prove himself capable of hurting her. Really hurting her, in a way she never allowed herself to be open to.

“Are you..” He began but stopped himself.

She held back a sarcastic smirk. It wasn’t the rejection that was stinging, or the words he was saying that bothered her – it was the way he could barely get them out. The way he refusing to tell her what was really going on inside his head. The way he was cowering away from a conversation with her – with _her_ , of all people, who he’d spent all summer sharing things with that he wouldn’t tell anyone else.

It felt like admitting defeat but it hit her like a truck now. As much as she was loath to admit it, Officer Bashan had been right. She should’ve known better. Only it wasn’t Tony that had got caught in the web.

“Relax, Tony. I’m a big girl.”

She didn’t mean it one bit. For as much as she was open about sex and casual relationships she had never been keen to tell someone like Tony the truth: that she barely had any experience of the real thing, was barely 23 and had spent her adolescence and early adulthood in training or combat or fighting her father’s battles with little time to dedicate to anything else. And maybe that was it: maybe she had genuinely never felt this way before and didn’t know that this was how it felt when someone you had come to care about almost as an inevitability did something to hurt you. Kept secrets from you. Shut you out, out of the blue.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

She watched as he continued to squirm away from her eyeline, running his forefinger up and down a line on his jeans as though it were the most interesting pattern in the world. She wondered if it was his own discomfort or hers being transferred. She was aware that most people she met perceived her in a certain way. Unemotional. Cold. She wasn’t sure, anymore, if that still included him. Wondered if he would be surprised if he knew what she was thinking, in the way it had surprised her.

“Is that why you came here tonight? Because you were worried about me.” He moved to clarify quickly, scrunching his features to chastise himself.

“I thought you could do with some company.” ‘And I could too’, she thought to herself. “But if you are sure there is nothing bothering you, then I should probably be getting home. It is late.”

“Don’t go.” He said quickly as she stood up, and a clammy hand grabbed her wrist. “It’s just.. the case, y’know. Not been a good week.”

She knew he was lying, still, but nodded all the same. “Me too.”

“Then I can’t let you leave. C’mon, let’s watch the rest of this. It’s getting good.”

'The Spy Who Loved Me'. What a farce.

“You think _all_ of it is good, Tony.”

“You were the one who wanted to watch it.”

She hummed, but settled back down into the couch.

She hated how pathetic this felt: how she felt herself analysing her own moves as she made them, wanting to pass herself off in a certain way so as not to let him know what she was feeling. She’d never found it difficult to do before, but things had never really bubbled this close to the surface. It had never felt cowardly like this.

She knew her father would say her time in America, around these people, had made her weak. Maybe it had.

His hand landed on her leg again and though there was no intention behind it, the deadweight made her stomach lurch and she shrugged it off her and stood up.

“Ziva..”

“Actually, I really should be going. We have not slept in days.”

“It’s late. I don’t want you walking home.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know. But I really don’t want to let you leave now.”

Ziva watched him, then. Saw the genuine fear in his eyes. Something he’d usually try to hide. She felt a pang of sympathy for whatever it was he wasn’t telling her, though she couldn’t be sure if he deserved it or not.

“Everything is alright between us, Tony.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I do not know how to reassure you of that, but it is.”

She meant it, genuinely: her intention for things to be back to normal, although equally she knew she’d never mention the events of this summer again. They’d stick in her mind, though – rattling around while she continued to pretend, difficult to repress, easy laughter and late-night coffee runs and fingers digging into her waist.

“Let’s just watch the movie.”

“OK.” His voice was bright and it was excruciating; as though he was acutely aware of every thought running through her head. She fought the instinctive urge to kick against it and say something she would really regret.

She sat back down next to him and again, he didn’t shuffle to make room for her to stop her from being pressed against his side. It might have felt cruel coming from someone else given the circumstances but she could see his intentions – his desire to keep things close, to try and cling onto the things they’d already had before this summer. Good things, she reminded herself. She couldn’t deny that.

They both sunk into the couch as the movie continued and at some point she ended up turned towards him again, feet in front of her, and Tony’s head tipped towards her tilted arm. He looked up at her, caught her eye, but she turned back to the screen after he gave her a small smile. She ran her hand a couple of times up and down his arm.

“I’m sorry.” The words were barely a whisper but she felt them against her shoulder. She didn’t say anything in response, not sure what it was he was apologising for. If it was even aimed at her.

More time passed and Ziva found herself less and less interested in what was happening on screen – at one point almost jumping at an explosion she had become so distracted. Her reaction seemed to surprise Tony, as out of character as it was, and he rubbed her leg twice while she pretended to be engrossed on the screen.

The film was beginning to wrap up when he checked his watch and stretched his loose arm above him. Ziva began to extricate herself but he leaned in, just a little, before he straightened his back.

“Stay there, OK? I’m just gonna run to the bathroom.”

He squeezed her leg and Ziva moved away from him to allow him to stand up. She saw the way he tried to subtly pick up his cell phone and take it into the room with him – heard his hushed voice a couple of seconds later.

With one eye on the bathroom door Ziva jumped off the sofa, grabbing her coat and bag. The quicker she could leave, the quicker they could forget this ever happened.

She shoved her feet into her shoes and made her way out of the apartment before he could get back.


End file.
